


Every Little Accident Takes Time

by allnuthatchforest



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Barely Legal, Class Issues, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, School Uniforms, Schoolboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allnuthatchforest/pseuds/allnuthatchforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a prep school student who comes to Arthur's shop to get his school uniform altered. They want each other, and Eames at least is determined to get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Accident Takes Time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Does Caroline Know?" by Talk Talk.

“Sorry. I’m closed. I forgot to lock the door. But the sign says we close at six,” Arthur said, hearing someone enter the shop, not looking up from the accounting ledger he was furiously scribbling on.

“I’m just here to pick up my uniform, is that alright? I’ve already paid,” said a youthful, vaguely familiar male voice in a resonant British accent.

“You can’t come back during business hours?”

The customer sounded like he was shuffling around a bit.

“Well, I mean, I’m in the shop already. And I don’t have much time this week. Sailing practice starts tomorrow. I mean--if it’s really a problem, I guess I can send someone to pick it up for me.”

 _You sound like the kind of person who’d have no problem sending other people to do your bidding,_ thought Arthur sullenly.

Arthur looked up at last, and was greeted with an impish smile.

Of course. It was that kid again.

*

He came in to the shop last week after taking his mother to church. The mother wore a Chanel tweed suit; she had a fluttery, cringing voice and a posh English accent, which she used to complain genteelly about everything from the Dutch love of salt to the use of acoustic guitars in church. Arthur secretly found her entertaining; he always enjoyed hearing people complain about things they hated. Arthur himself perhaps pretended to hate more things than he actually did, because he thought strong dislikes made a person interesting.

The one thing the lady did seem to like was her son. Judging by her frequent fawning calls to him across the store, his name was Freddie. Or perhaps it was Freddiedarling. “Freddie, darling, come and look at this jacket, oh, isn’t it sweet?” (It was a uniform jacket a lot like the one he had slung over his arm.) “It’s so nice to see small businesses thriving, adds to the local character,” she beamed.

Like his mother, Freddie had a couple of noteworthy traits. The most noteworthy was that he was obscenely, inconsiderately, repulsively gorgeous. So gorgeous Arthur didn’t actually want to look at him if he could help it. But to avoid seeming rude, he occasionally had to give the kid a glance and an expression more smile than frown. And then he had to look at him. Which was more of a chore than you’d think.

He wasn’t extremely tall, just about Arthur’s height (which was average), but he had broad shoulders and a stocky chest and the strong back and arms of a swimmer or a sailor. He walked with a radiant yet somehow shy confidence, tilting his head like a curious child if anything even remotely interesting caught his eye. His neck was thick, and Arthur caught a glimpse of a tuft of tawny chest hair poking out of the unbuttoned neck of his coneflower blue Oxford.

And his face. His face was--well, it was whatever word existed for something boldly exquisite, something with keen, sparkling gray eyes and a patrician nose and calmly expressive eyebrows. Most of all, something with a lusciously overripe mouth you couldn’t fake even if you got collagen by IV drip.

One of Arthur’s irrational fears was telepathy. And he was terrified that the kid, or his mother, would pick up signals from his mind, something like, _Please forgive me, but I am completely unable to stop fantasizing about hitting that._

And those thoughts hadn’t subsided any when he had to take the kid into the back room for his fitting. He (silently) begged his cock to go down, tried to distract himself with thoughts of soras and nearly-identical plover species and old chicken-legged guys in pocket-covered birdwatching vests with thick white socks pulled up over their pants.

Freddie already had his uniform, but he needed it altered. The uniform included a single-breasted navy blue jacket with dove-gray-trimmed lapels and gold buttons, white dress shirt, pleated gray dress slacks, and a light gray and red striped tie. Arthur had seen an awful lot of seventeen-year-old kids (God, he hoped he was seventeen at least) in school uniforms, but looking at this boy he felt like he’d never seen a prep school uniform before.

The jacket was snug across his broad, convex chest, and needed to be let out half an inch or so. Arthur wanted to slap himself for salivating at the way the too-smallness of the jacket hugged his waist and intimated the strong, angular curve of his hips; he had nagging thoughts of brushing his fingertips across those hips, sliding around to the hard but plump ass and gripping it bruisingly hard as he pulled the boy close so they could rut against each other and bite each others’ lips, arousal making their bodies somehow both weaker and stronger.

“I ordered this with my old measurements, but I’ve gained a lot of muscle between sophomore and junior year,” he said, sounding almost apologetic.

Of all the things you may need to apologize for, kid, Arthur thought, getting deliciously muscular is not one of them.

The kid was fidgeting in place, shifting his weight back and forth, moving his hand to rest on his hip and examining himself amusedly in the mirror. “OK, Freddie, hold still for me a second.”

Freddie leaned down and said, in a conspiratorial tone, ““No one calls me Freddie except my mother. Please, call me Eames.” He winked and smiled, and Arthur felt the back of his neck tingle, as it often did when someone was embarrassingly and unexpectedly nice to him.

Arthur smiled up at him, feeling like a pervert for even doing that. “Allright. Eames it is.”

Arthur ran the tape measure up his inseam, and could feel the taut, thick muscles of his inner thighs as he shifted minutely in place. He couldn’t help but imagining the cuts in those sleek, equine muscles thrown into relief by the afternoon sun as he strode across the deck of the boat in shorts and a thin shirt, pulled the mainsail lines, felt the Narragansett Bay breeze tousle his silky straw-brown hair and stroke the nape of his neck.

He looked into the mirror furtively, taking in Eames’ entire form, his thick arms crossed in front of him, his wide stance sure and powerful. In a few years he’d be a genuinely imposing man, if he wanted to be, despite a face that would probably always be lushly pretty and possessed of a sort of cheeky, ruddy sweetness.

Crouching next to him Arthur felt small and vulnerable. He didn’t like feeling small and vulnerable, especially next to a seventeen-year-old. He wanted to pin the boy’s arms over his head, see and feel the buttery soft skin of his arms and chest exposed and prickling in the cool late August night air. To kiss down his sides, rippled with muscle, his now slicked and side-parted hair disheveled by Arthur’s ceiling fan and by the way he’d pressed his forehead into the nest of pillows, moaning as Arthur slowly pushed his tongue into his hole.

After the fitting he backed away from Eames perhaps a little too quickly.

“I’ll need to replace the lining, so you’ll have to come back. It should be ready by tomorrow,” he said brusquely, rubbing his hands together. He wouldn’t be in tomorrow; his brother-in-law, Dom, was working that day. In fact, he was thinking of taking the whole week off.

*

And Eames came back the very day Arthur’s vacation ended.

“Do you mind if I just--try it on again, in front of you? Just make sure it fits right before I take it home?”

“Seriously?” Arthur sputtered. “I did say I was closed. I’m tired. I live almost two hours away, and I’d really like to get home before it’s dark.” Actually, that was a bit of a lie. He had been planning to go home before Eames showed up, but now he was frustrated and horny and hoping to employ one of his (admittedly rather dismal) options for getting laid tonight.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do any alterations or anything tonight,” Eames implored. “And if you really won’t do it, I understand. But it’ll just take a minute, then I’ll go.”

 _Okay, this is weird. Why does the kid sound like he’s fucking begging? Maybe the venerable Mrs. Eames will take the Rothko out of his bedroom as punishment if he doesn’t get his uniform checked twice. Maybe he’s just really particular about where the crotch falls._

 _I really should not think about this kid’s crotch at all._

“You’re really not used to hearing _no_ , are you, Mr. Eames,” he asked stiffly.

“Actually,” Eames said, “I hear it all the time.”

The way he was looking at Arthur unsettled him; his eyes were unblinking, soft, sad.

Arthur shook his head. “Alright. But no alterations tonight.”

Eames’s face slowly lit up. Arthur handed him his uniform, and he ambled into the back room, humming some vaguely familiar old pop song. The thought of Eames humming drove Arthur a little mad: those thick lips vibrating subtly against each other as he shared a sort of a private, pleasurable musical joke with himself. Humming was sort of like masturbation, the more he thought about it.

Eames was still humming that song in the fitting room. Arthur wracked his brain trying to place it, and then it occurred to him: it was “Lightnin’ Strikes” by Lou Christie. That song his father always cited when talking about how old pop songs were just as dirty as new ones, but just a little better at hiding it with creative innuendos.

 _So I have an obscenely handsome high school student peeling off his trousers and humming about ejaculation not six feet away from me,_ he thought. _I can’t tell if this is better or worse than sitting at home and jacking off to movies with James McAvoy in them._

The door creaked open.

“Well, Mr. Weinberg, what do you think?” Eames asked shyly, smoothing the jacket over his hips. “I can’t tell if the seam on the shoulders is lying exactly right. Can you--” He edged closer to Arthur until his shoulder was practically right at Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur drew back as unnoticeably as he could.

“I think it looks fine.” He knew his words were coming out in a rush. _Why is being around a seventeen-year-old like this making me seventeen?_

“Can you just--” Eames looked down at his shoulder and ran his fingers along the seam, then tugged at the shoulder a bit. Arthur noticed that his fingernails were broad and ragged.

Then he looked up at Arthur, his eyes steady, petitioning. But, Arthur thought with dismay, it wasn’t the look of a fallow and impatient kid who’s just trying to get what he wants when he wants it. There was a sincerity in his gaze.

“Mr. Eames,” he sighed, “the jacket looks fine. Allright?”

“Can you look at the back? And the pants? Please?”

Arthur exhaled through his nose and straightened his own jacket, as if that would somehow magically make his own erection subside.

Eames turned around, and Arthur marveled at the way the jacket sloped over the sleek, sinewy roundness of his ass. He waited for Eames to undo the jacket so he could look at the trousers. He certainly wasn’t about to take any liberties.

“OK, like I said, jacket looks fine. Great, really.”

“Just great?” Eames goaded. “Not perfect?”

“Jesus,” he said, beginning to lose his patience. “Eames, I can tell that for whatever reason, you’re amusing yourself with me, and I really don’t like it. The suit looks immaculate on you. I take too much pride in my work to let you leave here with shoddy workmanship. Alright?”

Eames looked him over coolly.

“So you aren’t into me then.”

“I’m not into high school students generally. I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s wrong.”

Eames looked unimpressed.

“I could have sworn that you...the way you looked at me last week, the way you were scared to look at me that first day I came in the store…It was pretty obvious, actually, Mr. Weinberg.”

“Please,” Arthur groaned. “If we’re even on this topic at all, it’s really creepy for you to keep calling me Mr. Weinberg. Call me Arthur.”

Eames grinned as though he’d just won a goldfish at the fair.

“Oh no no no.” Arthur realized his mistake. “This is not me agreeing to sleep with you. This is just me not wanting to feel like a creepy old man.”

“You’re not a creepy old man at all,” Eames said, and put his slightly roughened hand on Arthur’s neck. Arthur didn’t have the willpower to wrench it away. “You’re young and beautiful, and I can’t stop thinking about you. Seriously.” He breathed in and closed his eyes. “Your skin feels so good. Just like I imagined.”

Finally Arthur mustered the strength to pull Eames’s hand off of his neck.

“There is so much wrong with this,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you actually want from me. Whether you’re excited by the prospect of slumming it with a state school graduate who runs his father’s old tailoring shop, or if you’re trying to get revenge on me for cutting your buddy’s pants too short, or if you’re just trying to lose your V-card or what, you’re barking up the wrong tree, kid. You should just go.”

Eames grabbed Arthur’s wrist, then gentled his hold, appearing to regret having been so rough.

“You have such a low opinion of me already?” he demanded. “You don’t think that maybe I actually want you? You know, I actually came by earlier this week, and after I found out when you’d be in next I talked to that girl, Ariadne, who works here, and I asked her about you.”

“She never told me that.”

Eames smiled coyly. “I paid her off pretty good.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“So,” he asked, “what did you find out about my dazzlingly exciting life?”

“I found out that you turned thirty-two in April, that you majored in history and that you’re fluent in Spanish, that you claim you never drink soda but one night after you were working late Ariadne found ten empty root beer cans, that you gave a really funny toast at your sister’s wedding, and that you’re a competitive birdwatcher.”

 _Dammit, Ariadne, why’d you have to tell him that one._

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Eames laughed. “I like birds. I used to feed the seagulls all the time when I was a kid.”

“There’s no such thing as a seagull,” Arthur corrected, affecting his best absurd know-it-all voice. “Just different types of gulls. Bonaparte’s Gulls, Laughing Gulls, Lesser Black-Backed—mfff”

Eames flung an arm around his neck and silenced him with a kiss.

“You can tell me all about seagulls later,” Eames said against his lips. “Now I just want to kiss you.”

Arthur briefly resented being told what to do by a seventeen-year-old, even if he was completely justified in asking Arthur to shut up about seagulls.

“Wait a second.” Arthur pulled away. “How old are you?”

“Actually,” Eames looked a bit sheepish, “I’m eighteen. I got held back a grade when I was a kid. Academics weren’t really my strong suit.”

“You seem pretty smart to me,” Arthur said softly, threading his fingers through the fine hairs at Eames’ temple.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “You say that because you don’t like the idea of sleeping with someone who’s not just too young but also too dumb.”

“Hey. Enough of that, okay?” Arthur couldn’t resist pressing his lips briefly to Eames’s forehead. Even thought it might have been a little too intimate, more intimate even than what they’d done and what they were about to do. “So you wanna do this?”

Eames’ lips broke into a grin. Arthur could see that his teeth were more than a little crooked, and he found it endearing. He closed in for another kiss, bracketing Eames’ ribcage with his hands. “Take the jacket off?” he murmured in his ear, punctuating it with a kiss to the earlobe. “After all that, don’t want to get it dirty. Careful.” He helped Eames shimmy out of the jacket and laid it neatly on the counter. He was down to his tie and his dress shirt, and it was a delectable sight, the crisp white of the shirt setting off the smooth tan of his neck, the pink of his nipples just barely visible underneath the fabric.

“There we go.” He returned to the more exciting task at hand, and began to unpick the Windsor knot with practiced fingers. But he didn’t want to show Eames he was too desperate, so he worked slowly, draping the tie over his own shoulder, then moving to the buttons. He kissed Eames’ throat, scraping his lips over his Adam’s apple, moving up and down, from the scratchy underside of his chin to the hollow of his collarbone. He tried to minimize the other sounds he made so he could concentrate on the sound of himself kissing the boy’s skin—the soft, wet crackle of the slow suction, like kindling, like the warm static on a 45 recording.

“Let’s move this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?” he asked, sliding the shirt off of Eames’ arms. Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and nodded enthusiastically.

Arthur flipped the light on with the back of his hand and guided Eames backward to the couch in the back room. He broke away from touching him just long enough to knock his books off of the cushions.

“You’re sure about this.” He looked Eames squarely in the eye and waited.

“Jesus, Arthur,” Eames chided. “I’m not a kid. And I’m definitely not a virgin. I should probably be the one asking you if you’re OK with it, since you’re much more likely to regret this than I am.”

Arthur nodded reluctantly and sighed.

“Allright.”

They kissed for what might have been minutes and might have been an hour—Arthur wasn’t really keeping track of time. Arthur straddled Eames’s thighs and wrapped his arms around his back, savoring the feeling of that latent strength against his palms and forearms. His chest was flushed, and his nipples stood erect; Arthur had wanted to suck them since he saw Eames shirtless in the fitting room, and now he bent his head and took one into his mouth. Eames gasped and arched into the sensation.

“You like this?” Arthur asked, stroking Eames’s sides with his hands, drawing his torso up towards his mouth.

“God, fuck, yes,” Eames moaned. “It’s amazing.”

Arthur sucked it gently, then kissed around it for awhile, bringing one hand up to deliver the lightest of touches to the other nipple. Eames shivered. He continued to tease his nipple, hovering over it with his finger, stroking it and then pulling away, all the while kissing around his chest, breathing in the clean summer sweat suffusing his light chest hair. He rested his ear against his breastbone and felt Eames’ heart pounding.

He wet his finger in his own mouth, and then began to fondle the nipple in earnest, rubbing back and forth, feeling it swell. He pinched it lightly and Eames’ breath stuttered, so he pinched again, first one nipple, then both. He tugged both nipples gently, kissing back up the middle of Eames’s chest and neck until he returned to his lips. Then he breathed over Eames’ lips, touching them with his own teasingly, as if he were afraid and asking to be let in. Eames grasped the back of his neck, forced him to commit to the kiss.

“Pretty boy,” Arthur whispered, bringing one of his hands up to caress Eames’s lips with two fingers. Eames, who had always kept his eyes open while kissing Arthur, closed his eyes, breathing fast and shallow. His tongue flickered out to lick Arthur’s fingertips, then to draw them in and suck. “What do you want, baby?” Arthur asked, massaging Eames’s sweat-logged scalp. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll fuck you, I’ll suck your cock, I’ll finger you, I’ll kiss you and jack you off. Whatever you want.”

Eames looked deliriously up at him.

“I want you to eat my arse,” he said, smiling satedly, “and then I want to eat yours.”

Arthur, for whatever reason, hadn’t expected that answer. But he was not at all unhappy with it.

“That,” he said, bending down to kiss Eames’s nose, “sounds like a plan.”

Eames’ face flushed, and he began to unbuckle his belt and to slide his pants down his legs. _I can’t believe I let him do this in the pants I just altered,_ Arthur thought with dismay.

He was wearing black briefs, Arthur noticed admiringly. They cupped his ass perfectly. _Fuck, I don’t think I’ll even be able to eat this kid out without jizzing in my pants._

Eames sat up and stretched his arms over his head, and Arthur snuck in another playful kiss to a nipple. He put his hand on the small of Eames’s back, smooth and sticky.

“Can you turn around for me?” he asked him gently. “Get on your knees, rest your arms over the back of the couch?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that,” Eames grinned.

Arthur knelt between his legs. He ran his fingertip under the elastic band of the briefs, as if to remove them, but then he had a better idea. He kissed the backs of Eames’ thighs, the places where his thighs met the briefs. He opened his mouth over one arse cheek and kissed, then nipped lightly, and judging by the way Eames pushed back into him he approved. Then he positioned his lips right over the boy’s hole, and pressed his mouth into the cotton, feeling it stretch. His lips feel the tight hole through the fabric, and he sucked it as closely as he could, breathing in the smell of his sweat and his cock and his arse. Eames gasped sharply.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, kissing the hole.

“Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop,” Eames cried. “You’re gonna make me come.”

Arthur felt his chest swell with joy just a tiny bit. As he touched his tongue to the hole and flicked it over it, over and over, he grasped Eames’ hips, ran his hands along the slight cut between his pelvis and the tops of his thighs. He stroked up and down the fronts of his thighs, then brought his hands up to caress his belly. Eames’ cock was hard and twitching.

“Please, Arthur.” he moaned. “Please—ohh, god.”

“What is it?” Arthur kissed his back just above the band of the underwear. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel your mouth. I want you to fuck my arse with your tongue, and I want you to touch my cock,” he breathed.

Arthur rubbed his cheek against the small of his back and slowly peeled the underwear away from Eames’s arse.

When they’d been flung away, he spread Eames’ buttocks and pressed his finger to the hole. “Gorgeous,” he said. “Like everything else about you.” He licked his lips and delivered a long, slow, closed-mouthed kiss to it, sucking it as he reached around to wrap a hand around Eames’s cock. His tongue poked out between his lips, and he pushed against the hole with it; then he licked broad, wet, pressureless strokes over his hole, just to relax and gently pleasure him. He could feel his tension ebbing, between the slow pulls to his cock and the tongue lapping at his hole, so he tried tonguefucking again, and Eames opened up for him. He alternated the sharp, rhythmical tongue thrusts with messy, hungry sucking. And Eames’ cock jerked upwards in his hand, and the rocking of his hips became desperate and erratic, and with one long last sweep of Arthur’s lips and tongue, Eames came, shaking and throwing his head back and shouting, his cum a sudden heat all over Arthur’s fist.

Arthur kissed his way up his back and neck and pressed his lips to his cheek. “That was amazing,” he whispered. “You were amazing.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Eames laughed weakly, still bracing himself, trembling. Arthur put his arms around him and guided him back down to the couch. “You, on the other hand, really were amazing.”

“That you let me do it was enough,” Arthur sighed into Eames’ hair. “That’s doing something. It’s doing a lot, actually. Hang on, let me clean you up,” he said, sliding out from underneath him. He rooted around for a box of tissues, grabbed a handful, and knelt beside the couch, wiping Eames’s stomach and cock. He wished he had something better than tissues, because the fibers from the tissues always got stuck to the rapidly-drying cum, and they were annoying to pull off.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eames said, running a hand through Arthur’s hair. “I want to do something for you now.”

Eames sat up and pulled Arthur between his legs. He played with the collar of Arthur’s shirt, tipped his chin up and looked into his eyes.

“I like being your pretty boy,” he said earnestly, “but I want to be your man too.”

Arthur wasn’t sure exactly what to say to that. So he let Eames unbutton his collar, and when Eames pulled him up onto his thigh he swallowed his pride and tried not to feel like less of a man because he was sitting on an eighteen-year-old’s lap.

Eames kissed his neck rapturously—there was really no other word for it. He had one hand tangled in Arthur’s hair, tilting his head back, and one hand kneading Arthur’s waist, and his lips were suckling every inch of his neck. Then he drew back and was not so much kissing as feeling with his lips—caressing Arthur’s neck with his open mouth, brushing his top lip over the taut tendon-lines exposed by the turning of his head. “You’re perfect, you know that,” he said, not taking his mouth off of Arthur’s neck. “The moment I came in here I think I kind of fell in love with you.”

“Eames, you’re eighteen,” Arthur groaned. “You probably fall in love with everybody.”

“Fuck off,” Eames said sullenly.

Arthur pulled away and put his hands on Eames’ shoulders. “I really, really hope you aren’t entertaining any ideas about this being something more than it is,” he said firmly. “Don’t get me wrong. I like you, but we just met, and there are a thousand reasons why this isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m not an idiot, Arthur,” Eames retorted. “I know all of that. I just wanted you to know that I thought you were worth making an effort for.”

Arthur rubbed Eames’s cheek fondly. “OK then. You can still be my man tonight, if you want.”

Eames hung his head.

“Well, fuck. Now I feel like a little kid again.”

Arthur lifted Eames’ chin.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Eames looked taken aback. Then a slow, crooked smile formed.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, sure. I’d like that a lot.” He pressed his lips to Arthur’s, and his fingertips drifted down to finish unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt. The air was cold on his sweaty skin, and he pressed closer to Eames for warmth. Eames kissed down the curve of his shoulder, while his fingertips teased just past the small of his back and crept onto the sensitive line of skin leading to his hole.

“I want to fuck you on your back,” Eames said into his shoulder, “but..can you just lie on your stomach for me, for a second?” Arthur obliged, shifting off of Eames’ lap to lie face down on the couch. He rested his chin on his arms.

Eames trailed his fingers up and down Arthur’s spine. “I think about this, a lot. I think about what it would be like to come home and have you lying in bed like this, naked, waiting for me. Your arse just barely covered by a thin white sheet.” He ran his fingertips down one of Arthur’s buttocks, drawing the imaginary sheet down.

“What would you do then?” Arthur asked.

“Well, I’d say hello first,” he smiled. “And I’d run my fingers through your hair. Then I’d kiss you here.” He kissed him at the base of his spine, at the top of the cleft between his buttocks. “Then I’d kiss all the way up your back. Every inch of it.” He kissed the knob of each vertebra until his mouth was resting around the knob at the top of Arthur’s spine. “And I’d bring my hands around, play with your nipples, while I was doing that. I’d just want to feel as much of you at once as I possibly could.”

Arthur admitted to himself that it sounded incredible. He could see the scene: early morning; Eames, flushed and energized and wearing only a thin T-shirt and shorts, home from a run or a day on the water. And Arthur, lying on a soft white bed, sleepy, aching for touch. He had no idea whose home he was actually picturing. It wasn’t his, dim and cramped with a saggy mattress and those stiff dark sheets. He thought of his young lover’s weight on his back, pressing him into the mattress.

Eames was straddling him now, hands splayed underneath Arthur, drawing his index fingers back and forth across Arthur’s hard nipples. He licked the hairline at the nape of Arthur’s neck and kissed the dip between the tendons there. “You want my cock, don’t you, beautiful,” he whispered. “I can feel you pressing your arse up into me. You’re too proud to ask for it, because you don’t want to be begging a kid for his cock. But it’s alright.” He tucked a strand of Arthur’s hair out of the way and fixed his mouth to the edge of his ear, sucking. “I know you’re strong. I know you’re a man. And I know you could fuck me into oblivion if you wanted to. It’s okay if you want me to hold you down and fill you up with my cock.”

Eames moved to sit on the edge of the couch again. “Turn over?” he asked. And Arthur turned onto his back, cold air prickling his skin, goosebumps forming. He whisked his briefs off and his cock was painfully hard, tip slick, slit dark and wide open. Eames looked hungrily at it, then lowered his mouth—but not onto Arthur’s cock. He kissed along the red imprint left by Arthur’s briefs, then buried his nose in the curls of Arthur’s pubic hair, inhaling deeply.

“Your cock smells amazing,” Eames said, resting his cheek against Arthur’s pubic bone and looking up at him, mesmerized. Arthur ran his hand up Eames’s back and gripped a handful of his hair.

“Stop teasing me and suck it,” Arthur growled, barely recognizing his own voice. “Do you have any idea how hard I got just putting my tongue in your ass? Do you? Do you have any idea what it does to me, just feeling you?”

Eames chortled, then rubbed his soft cheek against the head of Arthur’s cock. “Yes, sir. Shall I finger you as well, sir? I came prepared.” He ducked and rummaged around in the pockets of his trousers, which were now lying sadly rumpled on the floor, and triumphantly held up a small tube of lubricant.

“You little bastard,” Arthur groaned. But he couldn’t complain too much. Eames had finally begun to suck his cock. He wrapped a hand around the shaft and worked it, tugging at the head with his lips. Every so often he would release his grip and take Arthur’s full length down his throat, and Arthur could feel the ridges of Eames’ hard palate on the top of his cock and his hot tongue stroking the veins underneath. His rhythm was momentarily broken up by an attempt at multitasking: he was trying to pop the cap off the lube and squirt it onto his fingers. Finally he gave up trying to keep Arthur in his mouth, and he let his cock fall from his lips while he coated his fingers and guided them to Arthur’s entrance.

“Oh god,” Arthur moaned. “Come on. Keep going.”

“You don’t really want to come in my mouth, do you?” Eames asked, as if he were talking to a stubborn child.

“At this rate, I’ll take what I can get,” Arthur said, attempting to sound fierce but probably failing.

Eames kissed the tip of Arthur’s cock, tongue playing in the slit. He slurped up a strand of precum. “I wish I could keep sucking you off while I fuck you,” he whispered. “I want to totally overwhelm you.”

“That’s what threesomes are for,” Arthur laughed. He regretted saying it when he saw the dark look in Eames’ eyes.

“I know this is our first time together and we’re probably not ever going to be a thing,” Eames asserted, cold fingertip brushing against Arthur’s hole, “but I really don’t like thinking about you with anyone else.” He fixed Arthur with an intense stare. “So could you not say anything else like that while we’re doing this?”

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized hurriedly.

“I mean, if I’m just filling a hole, so to speak, we don’t have to do this.”

“Look. I don’t deal with possessive people very well, OK?” Arthur retorted. “So chill out on all that stuff about our lives together, and not wanting to think about me with anyone else, will you? It’s just not sexy. It’s awkward and a little creepy.”

Eames withdrew his fingers and shrank from Arthur, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Sorry,” Eames mumbled. “I’m really not good at this. I guess I am just kind of a creep, charging in here like this, demanding that you look at my suit, seducing you, getting all possessive.”

“You’re not a creep,” Arthur reached up to touch Eames’ shoulder. “You seem like a good kid. I mean, a good guy. Whatever. As far as I can tell. I mean, you might be a psycho who ends up cutting all my clothes to shreds and pouring bleach in my fish tank.”

“I’m not like that.” Eames shook his head. “I just don’t know what to do when I actually like someone. It’s really easy when there’s a script. You know, you meet someone your age at a club, make eye contact, talk a little bit, a little eyefucking seals the deal, you go into the bathroom and blow each other. Those guys don’t usually make my heart race like you do. I don’t feel like I’ll literally throw up if they reject me, or if I see them kissing someone else.”

Arthur lifted himself up on his elbows and swung his legs around to sit beside Eames. “Well, I’m all yours right now,” he said, one arm sliding around Eames’ back, the other stroking Eames’ chest. “And there’s no one else I’d rather be fucking. I want you so fucking badly.” He shimmied onto Eames’ lap. “Will you fuck me like this?” he asked, turning his head to bite Eames’ lips. “Keep me on your lap? Hold me in place with your big arms, play with my nipples? Make me feel like your boy?”

Eames moaned and reached for the lube again. He coaxed Arthur’s legs apart with his palms, and Arthur straddled Eames’ thighs, canting his hips and spreading himself open with both hands to let Eames’ slick finger reach his hole.

Eames eased his finger in and worked it up and down and back and forth slowly, letting Arthur relax. “Good?” he asked. He kissed the pounding pulse in Arthur’s neck.

“Perfect,” Arthur exhaled. “Wait. You have condoms, right?”

“Of course,” Eames assured, crooking his finger to brush against Arthur’s prostate. “Ready for two?”

“One second.” Arthur breathed.

“That is what I was asking about, yes,” Eames chuckled.

“Imagine me glaring at you right now,” Arthur groaned.

“Like you don’t make terrible dad-humor jokes too,” Eames nipped at his ear. “Relax, baby. Laughing got you all tight again.”

Arthur took a deep breath and concentrated on unclenching his muscles. “Ready.” Eames slipped a second finger in with some effort, then began to work Arthur open with both fingers. He felt light and a bit dizzy all over, the slight pain of Eames’ scissoring turning into a relaxing stretch. Eames’ hand was snug against his solar plexus, moving with him as he raised and lowered his hips to help Eames’ fingers along. Finally, he couldn’t stand the wait any more. “I’m as loose as I’m going to get,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need your cock in me now.”

“Can you grab a condom from my pocket?” Eames panted.

“So much for being prepared,” Arthur dug his nails into Eames’ thigh as he reached for the trousers. He tore the package open and rolled the lubricated condom over Eames’ cock.

“A black condom. Really.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d appreciate a little formal wear,” Eames said, scraping his teeth over his shoulder.

Arthur gripped Eames’ thighs, bracing himself as he positioned himself over his cock. Eames guided his cock to Arthur’s hole, and Arthur, all his weight supported on his strained thighs, began to lower himself onto it, millimeter by millimeter.

“Mmm. That’s my good boy,” Eames breathed, massaging Arthur’s shaking thighs as he took his cock in fully. Arthur’s body clenched with the shock of finally having all of Eames inside him. He gripped Eames’ thighs as the pain subsided.

Eames held his hips as Arthur himself onto his cock again. He was a little touched by the feeling of Eames holding him up, supporting him, even if that was what anyone would do in his situation just to get the friction going.

Once Arthur set the pace, Eames began to bring his hips up slightly to meet him. He wrapped one arm around Arthur’s waist, pinning him to his chest with just enough room to continue moving up and down on his cock, and whispered incoherent sweetness into his neck. He pulled at Arthur’s nipple. “Oh God, that's so good. Harder,” Arthur demanded.

“The fucking or the nipple?” Eames choked out.

“Both.”

He pinched Arthur’s nipple between his fingernails, then tugged it again, hard. Arthur gasped. Eames increased the pace and roughness of his own thrusts, snapping his hips into Arthur while Arthur tilted forward, trying to hit Eames’ cock against his prostate. Suddenly he felt it hit the right spot, while Eames was pulling roughly at his nipple and sputtering words and kisses into his back. He scrambled to reach for his cock, needing to feel warmth on all those crucial places when he came, but Eames grabbed his wrist.

“Let me do that.”

“Quick,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m gonna come.”

Eames wrapped his hand around Arthur’s cock. Just the feeling of his skin on Arthur’s bare cock was heady, and Arthur felt the rush of an oncoming orgasm, the feeling that maybe he was about to lose control of his mind for good but it might not be so bad. His limbs went numb, and his arse clenched around Eames’ cock and he came all over his stomach and thighs and Eames’ hand. He went limp in Eames’ arms, and the other man grabbed Arthur’s hips again and thrusted into him until he became unable to control his movements and all he could do was pound wildly upwards into Arthur. He held Arthur tightly with both arms as he came.

Eames slumped to rest against the back of the couch, pulling Arthur back with him. He peeled the condom off, knotted it, and laid it on the couch’s arm.

Arthur rose to throw it away.

“Don't get up,” Eames moaned. “I’m comfortable like this. That was good, Arthur, wasn’t it?” He sounded so young then, so desperate for approval, that Arthur didn’t know whether to tell him to go away and never come back or gather him in his arms and tell him he was perfect and wonderful.

Arthur turned around and kissed his jaw, running his fingers through Eames' hair.

“It was incredible," he sighed sadly.

"But?"

"I like you, Eames,” he said earnestly. “But I can’t do this again. I can’t fill your need for approval. I can’t be the answer to all your insecurities, you know? You want so much from me. I don’t think I can do anything but let you down.”

“What about what you want?” Eames said, holding Arthur’ face in both his hands, letting him see the confusion and fear in his own eyes. “Why do your insecurities get to beat out mine?”

“Because I do know a little more than you do,” Arthur explained calmly. “No, listen. I know so many people who swore they’d be so good to each other, and then something happens, and…they just can’t. It isn’t that they didn’t try, or that they were bad people, it’s just that priorities change. And it’s much worse when you’re young. Everything feels like the most important and precious thing in the world, until the next day when you find another most important and precious thing. I’m not saying you wouldn’t try, but…You’re going to college in what, a year? You’ll meet so many people. Good-looking, smart, confident people with amazing futures. You see where I’m going with this?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Eames sighed. “And maybe you’re wrong. But can’t we take it a day at a time? Can’t I come by and rub your back sometimes after you’ve had a hard day? And you never got to fuck me. Didn’t you want to fuck me?”

“More than anything,” Arthur said wearily, standing to untangle his and Eames’ clothes on the floor. “But sometimes you have to deny yourself things you really want.”

“Don’t give me that fucking dad talk, Arthur,” Eames accused. “You want unsexy, that’s really unsexy. But if you don’t want to see me again, fine. I’ll take the long way home. I’ll get my shit tailored in Providence. No big deal.”

“Eames, don’t,” Arthur coaxed. He scanned the room, pretending he was looking for something on the floor, but really he was just trying to avoid having to look at Eames. “Look, maybe we could try not seeing each other for a month, and then see if we still want to do this?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine,” Eames said, staring at his knees. Arthur handed him his clothes and he slipped them on in silence. He barely looked at Arthur as he lifted his chin again proudly, re-knotted his tie—badly—shoved his underwear in his pocket, and made a cursory attempt to flatten his disheveled hair. He looked so deliciously petulant and full of bravado that Arthur had to restrain himself from asking for a kiss.

Arthur thought he was just going to walk straight out the door without looking back. But he did turn around.

“Just a month, you promise?” he said, cracking a smile.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, buttoning his pants.

“I might be able to do that,” Eames nodded, and walked out the door. Arthur realized with dismay that he had left it unlocked the whole time.


End file.
